


weird kinda hug

by Liu



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Hugs, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, time is screwed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: Ray did promise Mick that hug. Too bad the time broke before he could do it; now he's got to work around dinosaurs and Nazis.





	weird kinda hug

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arazsya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arazsya/gifts).



> A prompt I chose off the list of unclaimed prompts for the DCCW rarepair swap on tumblr: "Atomwave, post-disabling the spear, Ray did say he was going to hug Mick later."

Los Angeles is way weirder than Ray remembers, and it’s only partly the dinosaurs’ fault. It doesn’t take them long to discover that the huge reptiles are just one of the many time aberrations collected in one place; at least they’re all hoping it’s just the city that has been affected, and not the entire country. Or the continent. Or, you know, the whole world.

It’s hard to tell, with the Waverider refusing to cooperate and Gideon unable to tell them anything useful, so for the time being, survival becomes the top priority.

Ray can’t say that he appreciates the opportunity to relive his hard-earned anti-dinosaur tactics, but he does manage to keep the team from being eaten for the first few hours, so he must be off to a good start. Some of his trusty techniques require a bit of tweaking, due to the fact that there’s no native vegetation around to help with making a shelter or repelling wildlife – on the other hand, finding a place to stay is relatively easy with all the seemingly abandoned skyscrapers around.

They stumble upon a few scattered groups of people, most of them very much not from here or now. None of them are too friendly, and the Legends end up making a camp for themselves, on the ground floor of what probably used to be a bank – or will be a bank – in 2193. Most of his teammates point-blank refuse the safety measures Ray proposes, so he can’t help but offer a grateful smile to Mick, who gets off the floor with a shrug:

“Yeah, I had two beers. I can help.”

Nate and Amaya shoot them disgusted looks, but quickly return to their debate on the potential reasons for the US economy assuming a new currency, based on the scattered papers on the floor (which Ray tells them to save for kindling).

It turns out that the building is much bigger than it seems when two guys are trying to… set the perimeter, so to speak, and Ray makes the executive decision to cover the areas around potential entrances, such as doors or the large glass windows on the ground floor. Peeing in the street that could be overrun by angry T-Rexes is not conducive to great conversation, so Ray sticks to occasional remarks on architecture, weather, and the luck of _not_ seeing any more dinos just yet.

“I feel like one of those tiny dogs people let pee everywhere,” Mick grumbles, and Ray laughs – he’s missed Mick’s crude, honest sense of humor, even though he doesn’t display it very often. It’s probably weird to enjoy this kind of an activity for the feeling of camaraderie, like they’re a team again, the two of them, but Ray has learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth when it comes to Mick.

Who is good to go long after Ray’s bladder has been drained. When Ray jokes about them being lucky that Mick’s had those two beers, the guy tucks himself in and frowns:

“Will it mess with the…” he waves his hand around, looking for the words that don’t come, “with whatever this is supposed to do?”

Ray shakes his head, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation, and a little bit at Mick’s worries – he likes to pretend that he doesn’t care, but Ray’s not buying it anymore.

“No. Actually, it’s a good thing – the uric acid is more concentrated, so the probability of the T-Rexes not liking it and staying away is higher.”

Mick raises an eyebrow at him, and doesn’t even try to mask the hope that practically glimmers in his eyes:

“Does that mean more beer?”

Ray thinks ‘ah, what the hell’ – they’re stuck in a world that’s gone mad, a world _they_ have screwed up, so there’s no point denying Mick the simple pleasures in life.

“As long as we can find any, I don’t see why not.”

In hindsight, Ray wonders whether he shouldn’t have nipped that train of thought in the bud; Mick’s mood does improve, but he’s always had a bit of a one-track mind, and so, twenty-four hours later, Ray finds himself dragging a grumbling Mick out of the line of fire.

“Why does it always have to be Nazis,” he groans. Mick curses under his breath, but doesn’t struggle against Ray’s hold; running is out of the question for him, what with the gunshot wound gracing his thigh. He’s not bleeding too badly, and Ray sends a thanks to the heavens for letting this particular Nazi be a poor shot.

Ray gets them inside the nearest building when the T-Rex shrieks get closer (and another bullet whooshes right past Ray’s ear). He remembers watching the video about how dinosaurs were supposed to sound, and he thinks that in reality, they’re nothing like birds at all. Maybe he should get a recording for posterity, to prove just how wrong those speculations are.

His scientific thoughts are interrupted when he stumbles on a piece of rubble and sends them both sprawling on the dusty floor. It’s just as well – they’re away from the windows on the ground, meaning that no stray Nazi bullets will catch them as the group of soldiers tries not to be eaten.

Mick, unfazed, pulls out a bottle of beer he must’ve managed to pilfer while arguing about the ownership of the rest.

“You’re unbelievable,” Ray comments, and Mick gives him a grin that says he’s aware it wasn’t a compliment.

Ray sighs.

Mick takes a healthy swig, and then offers the bottle to Ray, who raises an eyebrow.

“Are you serious?”

“You said it, Haircut, it’s T-Rex repellent.”

If anyone ever told Ray he’d be sitting on the floor of what looks like a ruined 19th-century train station, sharing a drink with an arsonist-slash-bounty-hunter after picking a fight with Nazis, he would’ve thought that person insane.

In all fairness, this time it was Mick who punched a Nazi in the face, though it’s more likely because the guy was trying to prevent Mick from stocking up on alcohol than out of any political leanings.

Mick’s capacity for German probably doesn’t extend past ‘Bier’ and ‘nicht’, but he did not like them in one sentence, so when the soldier started yelling, Mick took the easy way out.

Unfortunately for them, the guy wasn’t alone.

Somewhat fortunately, the Nazis couldn’t really shoot them properly because they were busy raining bullets on the newest T-Rex incursion.

Ray takes a sip and makes a face; Mick takes the bottle from him with a look as if Ray has spat on the photo of his grandmother.

“Warm is better than none,” he huffs, and Ray sighs, opening his mouth to tell Mick that the temperature of their stolen drink is definitely not the biggest problem they have.

What comes out instead is: “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

Mick freezes, the bottle of beer halfway to his lips, and he turns his head to stare at Ray. It must be an uncomfortable angle, on the account of Mick sitting between Ray’s spread legs where they fell to the floor.

That’s the moment when Ray becomes aware of how close they are, of his arm looped around Mick’s waist and Mick’s eyes closer than they’ve ever been, bar the times when they were sparring or arguing. And those weren’t exactly good moments to realize that Mick actually has nice eyes, especially when they go this wide with surprise – which is something that Ray never thought of, and also something he believes should not be said aloud if he does not want to be punched in the face.

He almost starts panicking when Mick turns away again, finishing his beer in one impressive pull.

“He wouldn’t’ve killed me for beer, Haircut. No worries.”

“I can’t say that I agree, but I meant… you know. In general.”

Ray can’t bring himself to say it out loud, but he knows that Mick also remembers that moment two days ago when the cold gun put an icicle straight through the Other Mick’s heart. It’s apparent in the tension of those wide shoulders, and Ray gives in to the sudden impulse and tightens his hold on Mick’s waist, pulling him closer.

Mick, surprisingly, gives in and leans back until he’s resting against Ray’s chest.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, fiddling with the torn label on the bottle, “me too.”

There’s silence for a moment, at least as much of one as there can be with the shrieking and gunfire a couple dozen feet from where they’re sitting, in the streets that are all wrong. _Everything_ in this world is all wrong, and Ray feels guilty for enjoying this unexpected moment: it’s their fault, they were the ones who messed with time until it broke, but he can’t bring himself to let go of the sudden closeness just because they don’t really deserve it. Ray’s hand slides upwards, to cover the spot where he’d seen ice explode, and his own heart picks up the pace when he feels the steady heartbeat underneath the stained fabric and the scarred skin. Mick’s gloved fingers cover Ray’s knuckles; Ray’s breath catches in his throat.

“I’m sorry I broke the cold gun,” he says quietly, and Mick’s hand tightens on his for a little while. Ray’s almost starting to mentally curse his big mouth for bringing up a sensitive subject like that, right after Mick had to watch his best friend kill him and then disappear in the timeline that will eventually kill _him_. But Mick, to Ray’s surprise, doesn’t tense or pull away.

“I’m not,” he says, after a while, and turns a little towards Ray – in the position they’re in, Ray can see his profile from up close, all scars, stubble and bravado. Without thinking, Ray lets his thumb stroke a soothing trail across Mick’s breastbone, and he can feel Mick’s responding sharp exhale on the exposed skin of his forearm.

“What are you doing?” Mick asks, all quiet and serious. His voice sounds a little odd without the constant rage or sarcasm; Ray finds that he likes it quite a bit.

“I did promise you a hug, didn’t I?”

The joke gets stuck in his throat, though, ending up in a squeak instead of a laugh. Mick twists in his hold, and for an awful moment, Ray thinks that the man is going to get up and try to stand on his bad leg rather than address the tension that’s been building between them for weeks, but Mick just looks at him, up close, without blinking, without shying away, and it’s Ray who suddenly feels the urge to avert his gaze.

He doesn’t, though – it feels like a test, like a challenge, and Ray refuses to fail. 

“You’ve got the worst taste in people, Haircut,” Mick snorts, but before Ray can protest, he’s being thoroughly kissed, surprisingly gently, considering who his partner is. And that’s what they are, partners, for better or worse, among Nazis and dinosaurs and broken timelines, sitting in the rubble of a building that shouldn’t exist anymore. Ray’s neck cricks, and Mick’s lips are dry and rough, and it’s far from perfect, but Ray does not mind at all. He holds Mick close until the noises on the street die down, and maybe a little while afterwards, because there’s nothing but dead silence when they finally pull away from each other.

Mick winces and rolls his shoulders, and then, looks towards the door.

“Do you think there’s gonna be some beer left?”

Ray, resigned to the specific charms of his ridiculous partner, laughs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr.](https://pheuthe.tumblr.com/)


End file.
